


The Blade and The Clown

by Chromatic_Spark



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: F/M, Lemon, Porn With Plot, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 02:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15764712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromatic_Spark/pseuds/Chromatic_Spark
Summary: - This takes place after the events of 'The Dark Knight' and before 'The Dark Knight Rises' -The Joker just regained his freedom but the mob is out for his head. A skilled killer is sent after him but is he too unpredictable?





	The Blade and The Clown

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a one shot I've had muttering in the back of my head for a while. Don't worry I'll get back to my main stories as well but needed a quick break.
> 
> This has no connection to my other DC related fic 'Lose it' which you can find here https://archiveofourown.org/works/15477375/chapters/35928960
> 
> Let me know if you think I got Ledgers Joker right here, be great to get some feedback.
> 
> Warning: Pretty graphic stuff here, smut and violence.

The Joker sat in the dank basement room, chuckling to himself. Getting out of Arkham had been easier than he’d thought. The cops were so caught up in trying to chase The Bat it was a simple matter to have some things smuggled in to him. He didn’t believe for a moment that the bat had killed Harvey Dent, he’d give a lot to know the truth but even he knew he had to lie low for a while.  
He stood and began to pace a little. What to do? What to do?  
He thought of the ships that he’d rigged and how they’d derailed his plans by being so ‘good’. There were other ways to make the people play his game, to show their real selves. First he’d need money, more people and a few new tricks.  
This would be fun.

Pino Maroni sat in the plush seat that should have been his father’s. The men around him shifted uneasily. They’d trusted his father, feared him. He needed to claim them as his family quickly or they’d shift and another ‘don’ would take his place. They had all pledged their loyalty of course, his father’s wake had been nothing but careful manoeuvring, but that meant nothing. Especially in Gotham.  
His rage at his father’s murder came first. This meeting was the start of that. He didn’t believe, as many didn’t, that The Bat was responsible for his father’s death. The Bat had rules, he never killed. The driver had been shot and since when did Batman use a gun? No it had to be the clown.  
The masked figure opposite him was his last resort. He’d sent people into Arkham to kill him, they’d been taken out themselves. He payed off some cops to let him in himself to end the clown in person but he’d escaped. Now he had this… Person. A contact his father had but never used.  
“If you want me to kill this target my price is double.” They said, their voice muffled by the mask. They were so quiet he had to strain to hear them. Pino sat up with a snarl.  
“What! 2 million just to kill the clown!”  
“Yes, he is dangerous and unpredictable. He will take time to track and if you still wish me to kill him at close range… I will take half up front.” They said, a rasping whisper. The mask was simple, plain black with wide lenses over the eyes. The rest of their head was covered by a deep grey cowl. The way their head tilted with those dark shining lenses made them appear alien.  
“That’s ridiculous!” Morini spat, his men shifting to make it easier to reach for their weapons. “I could hire three guys to do it for that.”  
“But they couldn’t do it. The Joker would get them long before that. That’s why you called me.” They replied calmly.  
“No deal.”  
They got up smoothly and stepped away from the chair. They were lean but small, a runner's build covered by matt black body armour with no markings. The cowl wrapped around their neck but that was the only embellishment. In a dark room they would be invisible.  
“Then we are done here.” They said and turned to leave.  
“Wait.” Moroni stopped them. “500,000 now and a bonus if you bring me his head.”  
“Agreed.” They said without turning. “I will begin when the money enters my account. You will see me again when I have finished the job.”  
They left and Moroni gestured to one of his men to transfer the funds.

The Joker smiled at his reflection in the windscreen. His greasepaint was smudged and running but his eyes burned with triumph. One heist was all he had needed to get things back on track. A few well placed bullets and he had the men and the resources do do what he liked.  
He had hoped that his return to action would spur The Bat to return but it seemed he was hiding somewhere.  
The three men in the car with him had been in Arkham with him, petty men ruled by drugs, easily manipulated. They drove through the darkened city in silence, they were scared of him.  
One yelped as the rear passengers side tire blew out. The car twisted in the empty road, knocking the wing mirror off a parked car. The driver regained control and The Joker’s grin grew wider. His playmate had returned.  
Another tire, the front drivers side now, blew and they pitched into a streetlamp. He stumbled from the car and looked around, his suit jacket flapping around him as he twisted to try and see the attacker. His men left the car and a gunshot, suppressed but unmistakable echoed through the gloomy street as the driver fell forward, a bullet hole in his forehead.  
Not The Bat.  
Two more shots and the other men died just as quickly. He took off running into an alley. Who was it then? An assassin? How boring.  
He reached the end of the alley and emerged into the next street, lined with shops locked and barred for the night. He fired his gun, a shotgun he’d taken from the previous owner of the now useless car, into the door of a menswear shop and dove through the shattered door. No alarm, at least not one he could hear.  
He pitched over the displays and racks and waited for the gunman to arrive. He watched in the dark until he saw one of the mannequins gain and extra shadow then fired into it. The shadow leapt out of the way and rolled to a crouch. He could see them now, black armour and shining eyes. He laughed at it, pumping the shotgun. He fired and they leapt again, out of his sight.  
“Well, well, what have we got here?” He giggled tracing the shadows. “A little bug come to bite me? Come and get me!” He purred and fired another shot. In the light from the blast he saw it move, it was getting closer.  
He turned but the gun was pushed aside as it roared again and a kick landed on his chest, pushing him back to drop the weapon. He cackled as he fell drawing a serrated knife from his pocket.  
“Lemme guess. Some mobster wants revenge, wants you to kill me up close and personal.” He said turning this way and that in the dim light from the streetlamps. “Or are you another masked ‘hero’ come to take me back to Arkham? I love masks, they let you show who you really are.”  
He caught the movement before they could strike him. He caught their leg and pulled it, sending them sprawling on the floor. He swung himself over to straddle them but they rolled and rose too quickly.  
With the speed few saw The Joker was on them quickly with a fist to the sternum that knocked them back against the cashiers desk. He grabbed them round the throat and pinned them there, back painfully stretched.  
They raised an arm a blade in their hand but he grabbed it and slammed it again and again into the counter until they dropped it and them continued hitting it a few more times just because the figure didn’t cry out at all though their body tensed with the pain.  
“Come to give me some more scars? Do you wanna know how I got these?” He leaned in close enough that his breath fogged the dark lenses around their eyes and turned his face back and forth to indicate the deep scars that stretched his mouth into a permanent grin.  
They struggled and he slammed them back into the desk, their head knocking into the wood with a dull thud. They went limp and he peered into the glass curiously and touched his knife against the seam of the mask.  
Without warning the figure swung their leg up and caught him between the legs. He gasped and staggered backwards, howling with laughter as they darted forward and bore him to the ground, pulling another concealed blade and made to plunge it into his neck. He twisted away from the edge of it and rolled away.  
“You see I used to be a small time hustler, kept to the shadows.” He began, pulling himself to his feet to face them. “Till I picked the wrong pocket.”  
The figure twisted to the side to strike him but he pulled a rack of clothes over on top of them and kicked them in the ribs as they disentabled themselves from the rack of mens shirts. They rolled into a ball and tried to get away but he knelt on their chest the other foot firmly on their right wrist holding the long sharp blade. He took it and slipped into his pocket.  
“It was this guy, lean and strong. He dragged me into an alley and beat me till I didn’t know which way was up.” He punctuated his sentence with blows to their stomach and chin. They tried to strike him with their free hand but he swatted it away easily. They tried to arch their back but he leant more of his weight onto them and he finally heard them make a sound a rasping breath.  
“When he finally stops and backs off I’m so glad to be alive. He laughs at me. I want to get up, to hit him but I can’t. ‘Not funny’ I rasp at him.” He continues once again pressing the tip of his knife in the seam of the mask, now sliding it up to catch on the straps holding it in place. There are three he can see. One comes away.  
“‘Oh but it is’ he says to me.” He says cutting the second strap. “He picks up a bottle from the ground and smashes it. ‘Lets see you smile’ he says as he comes at me with it.” The last strap cut he leavers up the mask and pulls at it.  
The mask comes away and his grin widens at the reveal. Two big brown eyes look up at him, pretty but panicked. Full lips and a fine jaw, a nose that has been broken before. He slides his blade into the corner of their lips and they grab at his wrist, their grip is weak, their breath ragged.  
“So shall I put a smile on that face of yours?” He growls. “Or are you gonna tell me who hired you?” He presses hard enough to break the skin and they grit their teeth trying to hold the blade with them. They slam their palm into his chin hard enough to make his teeth clatter together and manage to worm away, coughing.  
Before they can gather themselves he’s on them again, pinning them to the wall, the blade pressed unto their chin.  
“Such a pretty little bug. Come on now, lets hear you chirp.” He purred at them. They gasp as he presses the blade again. He pushes closer, one leg between theirs his forearm pressing them into the wall. Their hands come up to try and push him away.  
They headbutt him and he steps back, they waste no time and sweep his legs out from under him and kick the knife out of his hand before kicking him again and again, he laughs raggedly through each hit then wraps his hands around their ankle and pull them over onto their back. He rolls on top and pins their arms on either side of them his face inches from them.  
A car rolls past outside and for a moment they can see each other clearly.  
His eyes burn with madness, his makeup smeared and his yellow teeth bared in a ritcrus like grin. He sees them clearly at last, the softness of the skin, a few errant wisps of dark hair stuck to their forehead. Long pretty lashes over eyes filled with rage and a streak of blood across their face.  
“Well now.” He said softly. His body lay over theirs pinning them down with his full weight. “Quite the fighter aren't you, miss?” His voice rumbled. “I like a fighter.”  
Her body tensed as he lowered his face, his breath tracing over her lips. She tried to headbutt him again but he was too close for her to get any force behind it. As her head contacted with his he crushed his lips to hers.  
The kiss was hard and ininstant. Her jaw ached as he mashed his deformed lips against hers, nipping, rubbing, nipping.  
She managed to wrest one of her legs out from under him and used it to leaver herself up and over so she was on top of him. He let go of her arms as they rolled to grip at the cowl and grab the back of her knee holding her face against his for a second longer before she sat up and punched him.  
His lip bleed and his pink tongue slipped out to lick it. She was straddling his hips one hand on his throat and the other pulling another blade from behind her back. Her breathing was hitched, her lips swollen.  
A distant siren. She looked up and out the storefront.  
“Ooooooo company.” He hissed and she pressed her thumb into his adams apple to try and silence him. “Make it quick, little bug.” He managed despite the pressure.  
“Shut up.” She rasped and he smiled.  
“So you can speak.” He said and she increased the pressure pressing her blade to the skin just under his ear. The blade was sharp but the sirens were close. She swore inwardly and stood up from him, pulling her mask back over her face and wedging it there as best she could. She turned to run, she could finish this another time.  
“Marlow hotel.” He said after her and she paused for a second. “We can finish this there.”  
She ran into the dark and heaved herself up a fire escape to find somewhere dark to hide until she could breathe better.  
He watched her go before retrieving the shotgun and kicking his way out the back door. He kept licking his lips remembering how she tasted.

He made it back to his hideout before dawn. The men he had there did not question his disheveled state or the absence of the men he’d had with him. He stalked to the basement and tossed the shotgun into a pile of guns in the corner. The room was small, a former workshop for the dilapidated hotel above. He turned on the bare bulb above him and shucked his jacket, trowing it on a rickety straight backed chair that sat in front of a pitted table. A mattress covered in rumpled sheets lay in the corner and he considered it for a moment, the fight had taken a lot from him but some things needed to be done before he could rest. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the ache there and gritted his teeth.  
His shirt and waistcoat were wrinkled and the knees of his trousers were stained. He flexed his fingers and considered his plans.  
A soft noise behind him bade him turn, just in time to dodge her initial attack. How had she gotten here before him? He had so many ideas of how to meet her but he didn’t hesitate to strike out at her as she turned. He missed and they wheeled away from each other.  
“Ah, couldn’t wait to see me again, could ya?” He mocked. She regarded him silently taking up a fighters stance across the room, a blade in each hand. He leaned his head back and groaned frustratedly. “Uh! Not the silent treatment again! I know you can talk!” He grumbled and she swiped at him as if testing his defences. He picked up the chair and smashed it, he held two of the legs and grinned at her. “Well if you won’t talk, little bug, lets see if you can scream.”  
He advanced on her and blocked her slashes, forcing her back and invading her space. Her movements were carefully, planned and executed masterfully. She’d won this way through countless fights, broken men three times her size. The Joker was barely taller than her and maybe only 30 pounds heavier, but he was unpredictable.  
He was more intent on getting a reaction out of her than defending himself. He got in close enough he was face to face with her for an instant. She stepped back and he landed a blow to the side of her head where the mask was only barely attached.  
She drove him back but he came forward again landing another, then another blow until at last her mask came open on that side and he grabbed at it, wrenching it off her head with one painful tug. He threw it into the corner of the room and stopped to look at her in the light.  
Her dark hair was chopped short and her eyes followed him like a cats. He noted four faint scars under her left eye and a deeper one partly hidden by her hairline. The skin around her lips was darkening with bruises and it looked like half of her right ear was missing.  
He grinned at her and she slashed at him. He only barely escaped the blow stepping back and losing his footing on a stray piece of the chair. He fell and she followed. Dropping one of her blades to grab a handful of his lank green hair with one hand and putting her remaining knife to his throat.  
“Oooo Its my head you’re after? How much is it worth? 100,000? 2?” He laughed and she raised it to swing.  
A knock at the door.  
“Boss? You okay in there?” A gruff voice from the other side of the rotting wood.  
“You’d better let me answer that, huh?” The Joker whispered. “There are a lot of men out there, with guns.” He pouted, “Think you can outrun them all?”  
She stepped back and he got unsteadily to his feet.  
“A-okay in here.” He replied loudly.  
“You sure, boss? Heard a lot of banging.” The gruff voice was full of concern.  
The Joker wrenched open the door and she hid her weapons behind her.  
“Can’t a guy entertain his… Lady-friend in peace?” He growled. The man behind the door was older, scarred and cynical but he backed away.  
The Joker closed the door and cracked his knuckles.  
“Now, where were we?” He chuckled and she raised her weapon again. He grinned and game at her in a flurry, feinting to the left and dodging in close, pushing her against the wall. He twisted her wrist until she dropped the knife then leant in close to her face. “Oh yes, I was going to see if you could scream.” He muttered in her face.  
She tried to kick out but he knocked her leg away. She lost her balance and he used it to throw her onto the mattress. He landed on top of her with one arm pinned behind her and the other held tight above her head. He pulled a knife from seemingly nowhere and ran the flat of it against her cheek.  
“I won’t scream.” She rasped and he smiled.  
“Oh but you will, little bug, you really will.” He replied licking his lips. He kissed her again, hungrily and viciously.  
She couldn’t deny he was intoxicating, no man had ever treated her like this. When was the last time one had kissed her? When was the last time one wanted to?  
His hand wandered over her body testing here and there with the blade. He was looking for a seam, a fastening, a weak spot. At last he found one and drove the blade in just enough, until it met resistance. She gasped against his mouth and he felt warmth on his fingers, deeper than he’d intended but the way her back arched was just beautiful.  
He pulled the blade out until he was sure it was just material then drew back to examine his work. He’d found a spot on her left side, he used his fingers and the blade to worry at the hole quickly tearing at the material under the solid blocks of armour.  
The well muscled skin of her abdomen was bare to him as he pulled back the fabric. Her skin was pale and mottled with bruises and old scars. Bullet holes here and there as well as a long wandering scar that started above her stomach and continued below her waistline. He followed it with a fingertip then met her eyes. No fear there, only rage.  
He wanted to see where it went, she could see that. She struggled against him and succeeded in freeing the arm trapped under her only for him to grab it and pin it to the bed, leaning over her to look in her face.  
He lowered himself onto her again, claiming her lips and feeling her lean form under him. He pressed against her lips with his tongue seeking entry. She denied him and he smiled against her shifting his weight to press against her wounded side. She gasped at the pain and he invaded her mouth.  
He tasted like whiskey and blood, smelled of cordite, he forced his tongue against hers and she could feel the walls of her resistance crumbling.  
She tasted of salt and peppermint, smelled of cheap moisturiser. He pressed against her, wanting more. He could force her but he wanted her willing, he always prefered women to gasp their acceptance, to welcome him. When he heard her moan softly he knew he had her and his grin widened.  
Her body was on fire, how long had it been? Too long since she’d felt need like this. She could cut off his head later, right now she needed something else.  
He sat up and looked in her face, his make-up was smeared all over her and her eyes were dark with heat. He began to unbutton his waistcoat slowly and she pushed up on her elbow to reach around and catch the zip of her armour. As she pulled the armour began to sag at the front. He gripped it and pulled until she raised her ams for him to drag it off her and toss it aside. She was slim with small breasts held by a simple practical bra, easily hidden by the cumbersome armour. Her neck now uncovered showed the start of that long scar over her throat, meandering between her breasts, over her stomach and down beyond the waist of her trousers. He slid the knife under the centre of the bra and cut before she could protest, falling on her chest like a madman, licking, sucking, kneading. She gasped and bucked as he nipped at her nipple hard enough to hurt. He growled at the movement and nipped again to get her to duplicate it.  
She slid her hand up his shirt to feel his back there were scars there to match her own. He sat up again to undo his shirt and shoulder it off. He was as lean as she was but there was muscle there, a wiry strength that tricked many into thinking him weak.  
He set to work on her chest again but left one hand against her face, pushing two fingers into her mouth where she hesitently suckled them. When he bit her again she bit him back and he looked up at her with a smile.  
Suddenly he pulled away to stand up. She pushed up onto her elbows in alarm but he was pulling at the waistband of her trousers.  
“Kick off your shoes, cinderella.” He growled. “You shall go to the ball.” She did as he asked and pushed off her boots while he yanked at her waistline. He succeeded at last and pulled away the padded trousers with ease, revealing skinny pale legs, knees bruised and the end of the scar was in sight, disappearing into her simple white panties. She sat up and tugged at his belt. He pushed her back and removed it himself with a flourish before stepping out of his trousers and crawling over her to claim her mouth again.  
She could feel him hard against her stomach as he bit her lip. He slid a hand between them and she gasped as he found he followed her scar between her legs. Finding her already wet he pushed up and tore off the flimsy cotton that divided them. He pulled her legs apart and knelt between them his cock pushing against her entrance. She arched her back trying to pull him inside but he pushed her down. She whimpered in protest and looked up at him. He looked oddly serene there until she met his eyes. He grinned and pushed into her.  
Just as he was in combat he was uneven and unpredictable as he began to thrust, there was no rhythm, a deep thrust followed by a shallow one. Frustrated, she kicked out to push them over and climb on top to set the speed herself, he gave a husky laugh and wrapped his arms around her rolling them again to regain control.  
They rolled and fought for dominance writhing against each other as they tangled together. She bit his shoulder hard enough to break the skin and he bucked with the pain, growling. Despite the rough and dischortant movements she could feel the friction building in her stomach when it reached its peak she flung her head back with a guttural cry.  
Feeling her clench around him, her nails biting into his back he sank his own teeth into her shoulder and thrust into her quickly until he found his own peak.  
They lay panting, each on their side with their legs tangled. They looked at each other from such close proximity. Both bruised and bloodied her lips swollen and his war paint smudged over them both.  
Before he could react she pushed him onto his back and pulled one of her blades from the pile of clothes nearby. She pressed the blade to his neck as she straddled him. His softening member was still inside her and he didn’t resist her at all.  
“Ohhhhhhh.” He groaned licking his lips. “Even after that you still want my head? You’re insatiable.” He ran his fingers up the long ragged scar. “How much is it worth then?”  
“2 million.” She rasped  
“Well I suppose I had my fun. It’s only fair you have yours.” He grinned and she pulled back to swing at him.

Pino looked on as the dark figure approached, their walk was uneven, it seemed the fight had taken its toll on the assassin. They dumped a heavy sack at his feet, a few locks of greasy green hair peeped through the mouth of it as it fell with a wet thud.  
“It is done. My money?” They said quietly, there was a hitch in their voice that wasn’t there before.  
“He give you much trouble?” Pino asked pulling the bag open. He smiled when he saw the signature makeup spattered with blood, jaw slack and eyes agape.  
“My money?” The figure repeated, they were hunched. Pino knew they didn’t want to show weakness, respected that.  
“Gino, pay the man.” He ordered and heard a chime as his man pressed the button to transfer the funds. “Pleasure doing business with you.”  
“Don’t you want to know who he was?” The figure asked tilting their head oddly.  
“He was a freak who got what he deserved.” Pino replied sitting back with a grin. “I only regret not gutting him myself.”  
The figure laughed, their chest bobbing with the force of it.  
The door burst open and in flooded a gang of armed men they overwhelmed him and his followers easily. The dark figure stalked closer and pulled off the mask.  
“Shit!” Barked Pino as he saw the facepaint, the hair and the smile.  
The Joker dropped the mask and drew a switchblade from his belt.  
“What's wrong? Not happy to see me? Is it the scars?” He stalked closer. “Wanna know how I got them?”

If Moroni or Batman or even the GCPD had cared to look they would have found a young woman, battered but unashamed, climbing aboard a train headed away from Gotham. She had a large holdall over her shoulder and kept an arm wrapped against her ribs.  
She sat alone and pulled up the collar of the ill fitting purple shirt she wore as he turned to watch the city recede.  
She would have to buy new armour, the mask had been difficult to source but she’d given it to him willingly. The holdall contained a few useful things: guns, knives and several hundred thousand dollars. A parting gift.  
She touched her lips, reliving her final kiss from the madman.  
“This isn’t fun.” She’d spat at him.  
“Would you like it to be?” He’d replied.  
She smiled, watching how the swelling on her face twisted it in the dim reflection.  
She had denied his final offer, opting to return to her nomadic life. She never liked to stay in one place too long. Now though she knew that she had somewhere to return to.  
“Look me up next time you want to have some fun.” He’d said before she left.  
Maybe, someday she would.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Please let me know in the comments what you think!


End file.
